Reflections
by Lone.L
Summary: Even now, he sees reflections of her everywhere he turns. Each vision of that memory brings him closer to breaking, though he might be just smart enough to forget. Added: New Ending/Edits
1. Original

I'm back with more. Read and enjoy. Review if you have time.

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**Reflections**

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Memories erupt in short bursts as he passes tentatively from place to place, flaring up before him at inopportune moments and vanishing just as quickly into the dark of night. Of all of the choices and mistakes he has made and been forced to make, none stand out more to him than the one carried on the crest of those memories, breaking upon the shore of his mind when he desperately wants to avoid it. 

His feet are simply stuck in the sand.

The door shuts on his Munich apartment as he ventures out into the cold of a winter afternoon, delicately sliding his gloved hands into the pockets of his brown coat. He has come to accept this world as his new home with ease, and readily admits that a driving factor behind his unforced resignation to obscurity is the fact that being here makes it easier. Easier to avoid the mistakes he's made and the choices that lead him to them. Easier to enjoy some quiet. Easier to forget.

Lately, he's wanted nothing more to forget, and ironically, nothing has come harder.

He turns the corner and descends a flight of stairs with loud taps until he reaches ground level, pausing to ponder his course of action—for, as usual, there was no particular reason spurring him to leave the comfort of his home, save for his reluctance to sit and think of one. His blonde hair whips in the chilly wind as he rotates again, setting a course for the next street ahead. When he reaches that street, he will simply detour until aligning with the next. There is no particular reason to be constantly moving, save for his reluctance to not do just that.

His true destination is as far as his weary feet will carry him and back.

A tall woman with dark hair passes casually by across the way, unaware that the young man twenty feet away has stopped in his tracks to watch her, visibly shaken. Long after she is gone, he stares silently, rooted to the spot, a victim of an unpenetrable daze. Slowly, his senses return and he hesitantly pulls himself together, eventually turning back to the road ahead and moving on. From the corner of his eye, he is alerted to the presents of a vendor peddling his glass wares. Without thinking, he turns to look, pretending to be interested as he gazes into the shiny items.

Focusing on a reflection of himself is all he can do to avoid seeing the repercussions of that single memory.

After a quiet moment and a polite thanks, he returns to the path and moves ahead, his legs carrying him of their own free accord. As he walks, the world seems more surreal by the second. He is unable to decide if he feels as though he's there, and everything else isn't, or vice versa. An obligatory grin greets the thought that either would be fine, because the overwhelming sense of odd collation with his surroundings drowns out the permeating feel of unrewardable displacency. A rhythm unfolds as he continues on uninterrupted, finally acheiving the piece of mind he is searching for.

His remarkable golden eyes dilate when he sees a black satin dress hanging in a window, and it is then he knows he can't avoid it.

The memories come rushing back anew, and he unconditionally succumbs. Per the standard, the blame falls: if only he had _gotten there sooner_, hadn't _wasted his time with trivial matters_, hadn't _dragged her into it_. She ended up dead, and he, left with the remains and facing yet another decision and the toughest battle of his soon-to-be ended and recycled life. The complete irony of the situation, he reflects as he returns to walking at a slowed pace, is that the entire situation was undeniably inappropriate from the intial moment it began. They began as opposing forces with a steep divide between them and finished in fluid cohesion, and though he gradually became more aware of what was happening as it progressed, neither could identify the exact moment when the spark ignited.

But, though the tries not to, he can easily identify the moment when that same flame was snuffed out mercilessly.

He is strong in body, strong in mind, and strong in spirit. He will live on, move on, proceed through life with the fullest amount of enjoyment; not a single thing can stop him from that. However, he will carry that same memory with him every way he turns, forever acknowledging the result yet declining the aftermath. At last, he reaches the end of the street he has been walking and calmly comes to a stop, pausing to sift through the many thoughts occupying his mind.

A fleeting breath escapes his lips, visible in the cold of the winter, as he closes his eyes, turns around, and continues walking.

Now on his way home once more, he smiles crookedly and withdraws his hands from his pockets, reaching them out in time to catch a small snowflake as it falls from the sky. Many follow, falling around him as his legs pace endlessly. He has happiness, and that in itself is undeniable. He is an extremely smart man, a fact without contest that allots him the ability to see the larger picture and understand that he must move on. And though he's halfway there, the remaining half will be one of the hardest journeys he has ever undertaken.

As he is drawing nearer to the apartment, the sound of a young woman speaking in a sultry voice, presumably to the item of her affections, reaches his ears, and he draws one step closer to breaking.

Fleeting distractions whirl around him as he sees reflections of her every way he turns. He knows full well that what he feels is nothing more than a taboo, a monstrous mistake. It is a sin.

He will always, affectionately, reverently, call it Lust.

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**A/N: **No inspiration. None. So please forgive me if it's not up to par. I'm in a bit of a rut lately, but I just read my other EdLust stories a couple days ago and realized I still can't let that couple go. I hope you enjoyed reading this, and review if you can.

As I just mentioned, if you are somehow a fan of or interested in EdLust, check out **Object of Lust**, **Rendezvous**, and **Unknown**. To other readers, I'm working on a follow-up to **Quiet Letter**, if that's of interest to anyone.

**LL**


	2. Remastered

I recently drew up a new ending to this as I was converting it to a story for school use, but I liked it, so I wanted to add it here. Other edits scattered throughout. More in **A/N**.

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**Reflections**

**New Draft Alternate Ending**

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Memories erupt in short bursts as he passes tentatively from place to place, flaring up before him at inopportune moments and vanishing just as quickly into the dark of night. Of all of the choices and mistakes he has made and been forced to make, none stand out more to him than the one carried on the crest of those memories, breaking upon the shore of his mind when he desperately wants to avoid it. 

His feet are simply stuck in the sand.

The door shuts on his Munich apartment as he ventures out into the cold of a winter afternoon, delicately sliding his gloved hands into the pockets of his brown coat. He has come to accept this world as his new home with ease, and readily admits that a driving factor behind his unforced resignation to obscurity is the fact that being here makes it easier. Easier to avoid the mistakes he's made and the choices that lead him to them. Easier to enjoy some quiet. Easier to forget.

Lately, he's wanted nothing more to forget, and ironically, nothing has come harder.

He turns the corner and descends a flight of stairs with loud taps until he reaches ground level, pausing to ponder his course of action—for, as usual, there was no particular reason spurring him to leave the comfort of his home, save for his reluctance to sit and think of one. His blonde hair whips in the chilly wind as he rotates again, setting a course for the next street ahead. When he reaches that street, he will simply detour until aligning with the next. There is no particular reason to be constantly moving, save for his reluctance to not do just that.

His true destination is as far as his weary feet will carry him and back.

A tall woman with dark hair passes casually by across the way, unaware that the young man twenty feet away has stopped in his tracks to watch her, visibly shaken. Long after she is gone, he stares silently, rooted to the spot, a victim of an unpenetrable daze. Slowly, his senses return and he hesitantly pulls himself together, eventually turning back to the road ahead and moving on. From the corner of his eye, he is alerted to the presence of a vendor peddling his glass wares. Without thinking, he turns to look, pretending to be interested as he gazes into the shiny items.

Focusing on a frosty reflection of himself is all he can do to avoid seeing the repercussions of that single memory.

After a quiet moment and a polite thanks, he returns to the path and moves ahead, his legs carrying him of their own free accord. As he walks, the world seems more surreal by the second. He is unable to decide if he feels as though he's there, and everything else isn't, or vice versa. An obligatory grin greets the thought that either would be fine, because the overwhelming sense of odd collation with his surroundings drowns out the permeating feel of unrewarding displacement. A rhythm unfolds as he continues on uninterrupted, finally acheiving the piece of mind he is searching for.

His remarkable golden eyes dilate when he sees a black satin dress hanging in a window, and it is then he knows he can't avoid it.

The memories come rushing back anew, and he unconditionally succumbs. Per the standard, the blame falls: if only he had _gotten there sooner _to fend off the brat's assault, hadn't _wasted his time with trivial matters_, hadn't _dragged her into it_. She ended up dead, and he, left with the remains and facing yet another decision and the toughest battle of his soon-to-be ended and recycled life. The complete irony of the situation, he reflects as he returns to walking at a slowed pace, is that the entire situation was undeniably inappropriate from the intial moment it began. What were they? They should have been nothing to each other, nor should any relationship between them have been one that mattered. Human and Homunculus, hunted and hunter, good guy versus bad.

But the world wasn't ever black and white like that, was it?

They began as opposing forces with a steep divide between them and finished in fluid cohesion, and though he gradually became more aware of what was happening as it progressed, neither could identify the exact moment when the spark ignited. They just knew that it did, and for whatever bizarre reason, it was strong.

But, though the tries not to, he can easily identify the moment when that same flame was snuffed out mercilessly.

He is strong in body, strong in mind, and strong in spirit. Eventually, he will live on, move on, proceed through life with the fullest amount of enjoyment; not a single thing can stop him from that. He will, however, carry that same memory with him every way he turns, forever acknowledging the result yet declining the aftermath. At last, he reaches the end of the street he has been walking and calmly comes to a stop, pausing to sift through the many thoughts occupying his mind.

A fleeting breath escapes his lips, visible in the cold of the winter, as he closes his eyes, turns around, and continues walking.

Now on his way home once more, he smiles crookedly and withdraws his hands from his pockets, reaching them out in time to catch a small snowflake as it falls from the sky. Many follow, slowly drifting around him as his legs pace endlessly. He is a smart man, allowing to see the larger picture and understand that he must let it go. And though he's halfway there, the remaining half will be one of the hardest journeys he has ever undertaken.

As he is drawing nearer to the apartment, the sound of a young woman speaking in a sultry voice to the item of her affections reaches his ears, and he draws one step closer to breaking.

Fleeting distractions whirl around him as he sees reflections of her every way he turns. He knows full well that what he feels is nothing more than a taboo, a monstrous mistake. It is a waste; it is a sin.

The snow intensifies, a flurry of white overcoming the veil of darkness as his footsteps are quietly lost in the midst.

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**A/N: **You know, I just loved this edit so much that I had to post it up. You may object to me adding to a finished story, but I like the fact that you can see improvement throughout the new draft and I love having two great endings to look at...I'm hoping you feel the same. I'm not done with FMA fanfiction either, just biding my time elsewhere momentarily, lol. I'm working into the Naruto fandom, check me out there, but I still love FMA, so if you ever have any good challenges, PM me in a heartbeat.

I hope you like this addition to what I consider to be one of my "classics" (a fancy term for one of my personal favorites). If you do, let me know eh?

Til next time.

**LL**


End file.
